Thank you both for your kind comments.

I do love the direction of this story. Complete subjugation and humiliation. One bit of minor constructive criticism. You have a tendency to repeat certain phrases and lines, often close together. You could use an editor. And Avril's reactions are confusing. She is described as sometimes feeling fear or similar emotions, without any explanation for why she would be feeling that way. But otherwise this story is quite enjoyable. Thanks for writing it

naughty baby hubby you are doing extremely well, this story is excellent, I for one an enjoying it immensely, I ca't wait for more.
Thank you so much. 

Avril's blood ran cold as she absorbed her conversation with Trudy. Fury, hot and raw, bubbled up within her. The revelation of Roy's peeping wasn't just another layer of humiliation; it felt like a betrayal of their entire relationship. Here she was, grappling with his bedwetting and the public shame at Tesco's, and all the while, he was engaging in predatory behavior towards his  colleagues.
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the screen. This wasn't the man she thought she knew. This wasn't the future they'd built together. Wiping her face with a trembling hand, she knew what she had to do. Reset.
Stomping towards the bedroom, her vision narrowed in on Roy, oblivious, sprawled on the bed. "Get up, now!" she barked, her voice laced with a dangerous edge.
Roy startled awake, blinking at her in confusion. Before he could form a question, she grabbed his arm, the anger lending her a strength she hadn't known she possessed. He yelped in surprised protest as she dragged him, bare-legged and bewildered, across the hallway.
The bathroom door slammed shut behind them with a resounding crack. Ignoring his pleas of explanation, she ripped open a pack of nappies, the garish pink of the cartoon dinosaurs glaring back at her. With a roughness born of frustration, she wrestled the wet underwear off him and shoved him onto the changing mat.
"Hold still, Roy!" she snapped, her voice tight. Fumbling with the fasteners, she secured a fresh nappy around him, the lack of Mr. Snuggles a glaring reminder of their dwindling supplies. " Now get in to bed no mr snuggles for you.
You're not coming out until the morning," she declared, her voice a low growl. She needed space, time to process this new betrayal, this horrifying revelation that shattered the carefully constructed image of the man she loved.
Collapsing onto the bed, she wrapped her arms around herself, the deafening silence of the room broken only by her ragged sobs. The future, once a hopeful horizon, stretched before her now, a vast, uncertain landscape. Could she rebuild trust with Roy? Could their relationship survive the weight of his actions, the violation of her colleagues' safety? The questions echoed in the emptiness of her heart, and as sleep finally claimed her, there were no answers, only the cold sting of betrayal and the heavy weight of a future filled with doubt.
Roy woke with a jolt, the plastic crinkling beneath him a stark reminder of his situation. His bare skin itched, and the dampness of his nappy sent shivers down his spine. Sleep had been a fitful affair, punctuated by the worry of a morning washboard session promised by Avril's icy demeanor.
As the first rays of sunlight peeked through the blinds, the bathroom door creaked open. Avril stood there, her face a mask of stony anger. Without a word, she grabbed his arm and marched him, naked and shivering, towards the bathroom.
The change was swift and unceremonious. She ripped his soggy nappy off and tossed it on the floor and pointed at the potty. "Poo in that now," she said, her voice devoid of warmth, devoid of the love he once knew.
Roy, defeated, knew arguing was pointless. He sighed and squatted on the potty, pushing and grunting as instructed. A moment later, a satisfying plop filled the small space. Relief, however, was short-lived.
Avril said nothing. She grabbed him roughly by the hair, the pain momentarily silencing his gasp. Pushing him to the floor with a shove, she barked, "Dirty Boy?"
Shame burned through Roy. He deserved this, he knew. The peeping, the wetting, it all came crashing down on him in a wave of self-loathing. But this harshness, this sudden transformation of the woman he loved, it was terrifying.
Tears streamed down his face, blurring his vision. He opened his mouth to speak, to plead, but no words came out. Avril simply glared at him, her face devoid of any emotion he could recognize. In that moment, Roy felt utterly alone, adrift in a sea of his own mistakes.
Roy slumped onto the cold floor, Avril grabbed him by the ear and dragged him in to the lounge. Avril loomed over him, her face an unreadable mask. He longed for the warmth of her touch, the familiar spark in her eyes, but all he saw was cold fury.
"Kneel on that rug," she said, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. Roy obeyed, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. This wasn't the Avril he knew. This was a stranger, her eyes filled with a disappointment so profound it felt like a physical blow.
"Things are going to change, Roy," she began, her voice laced with steel. "And it starts now."
As she spoke, her voice grew colder with each word.
"Trudy has called me “She told me what you've been doing. Peeping at the women at work." Shame burned through him, a searing fire that choked back any attempt at denial.
"And that's not all," she continued, her voice dropping to a low growl. "She also told me about the wetting incident, how the women mocked you. You made them feel unsafe, Roy. Humiliated. “The memory of that day flooded back Roy’s faced turned red.
"As a result," Avril said, her voice clipped, "you're now effectively suspended from work. And we'll be working from home for the foreseeable future. You have a few days of grace to sort things out, but rest assured, this won't be the end of it with HR."
Roy's mind reeled. Suspension? This was worse than he'd imagined. How would he face his colleagues? How would he explain this to his everyone? The future he'd envisioned, a future built on stability and love, was crumbling around him.
The stark command shattered the fragile silence. "Get up, Roy," Avril ordered, her voice laced with a steely resolve. Roy, still numb from the earlier revelation and punishment, looked up at her with a mixture of fear and confusion.
"Conservatory. Now," she added, gesturing towards the glass room attached to the back of the house.
Roy obeyed, the coolness of the air hitting him like a slap as he stepped out of the living room. Standing naked in the conservatory felt oddly humiliating, the expanse of glass offering little privacy from Avril's watchful gaze.
Avril in  her voice cold. "Hands on your head. Face the garden."
Roy complied, his body trembling slightly from the chill and the weight of his shame. He couldn't understand the logic behind this new punishment, but he was too cowed to argue. Minutes ticked by in an agonizing silence, broken only by the chirping of birds outside.
Suddenly, the conservatory door creaked open and Avril reappeared, a determined glint in her eyes. She was carrying a bundle of black bin bags, their plastic rustling ominously. A horrifying realization dawned on Roy as he watched her approach.
Without a word, she marched to the far end of the conservatory, where a pile of dry leaves lay waiting for their next burning session. Avril knelt down, shoving a handful of leaves into one of the black bags. Reaching into another bag, she pulled out a garment – a familiar, well-tailored suit, Roy's best.
Her actions were methodical, almost ritualistic. She stuffed the suit into the bag with the leaves, then reached back in, pulling out another piece of clothing – a shirt, a pair of trousers. Each item of Roy's clothing followed the same path, stuffed unceremoniously into the black bags with the dry leaves.
Panic clawed at Roy's throat. "Avril, what are you doing?" he croaked, his voice hoarse. But she ignored him, her face set in a mask of grim determination.
Finally, with the last bag filled, Avril grabbed a lighter from her pocket. Roy's breath hitched. She wouldn't... she couldn't...
But Avril did. With a flick of her wrist, the lighter sparked to life, illuminating her face in an eerie orange glow. She held the flame to the pile of leaves and black bags, setting them ablaze.
Flames danced and flickered, casting long shadows across the conservatory. The acrid smell of burning plastic filled the air, stinging Roy's eyes. He watched in horrified fascination as his clothes, his entire wardrobe, turned to ash and smoke.
"What will I wear?" he finally managed to gasp, his voice barely a whisper.
. Roy slumped against the cool glass of the conservatory, the remnants of his life smoldering in the distance. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring the image of the dancing flames consuming his clothes, his identity. Trapped, both physically by Avril's decree and emotionally by his own shame, he felt utterly broken.
A mechanical click announced Avril's return. No mercy flickered in her eyes, only a resolute coldness. "Now that that's done," she began, her voice devoid of warmth, "let's discuss the new rules of the house."
Roy opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Don't," she said, her voice laced with a barely suppressed anger. "No excuses, no justifications. You've had your chance to explain yourself, and frankly, your actions speak louder than any feeble attempts at apologies."
He flinched under her withering gaze. The childish desire to plead, to lash out, died on his lips. He knew he deserved this – the public humiliation, the loss of his clothes, the complete control she now exerted over him. But the way she treated him, like a scolded child, stung more than any physical punishment.
"Firstly," Avril continued, enunciating each word carefully, "you will be up at seven o'clock sharp every morning. No more late starts, no more wallowing in self-pity."
She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in before continuing. "Secondly, there will be a designated 'potty time'. You will use the potty, and I will check. No more accidents, no more wetting yourself like a baby."
Roy winced at the last statement. It was a low blow, a verbal reminder of his deepest shame. But he could offer no rebuttal. His actions, his inability to control himself, had invited this treatment.
Her tone softened slightly, but a steely resolve remained. "Finally, you will be completing a daily chore list. Cleaning, gardening, anything to contribute to this household instead of being a drain on it."
As she finished listing the new rules, Roy looked down at his bare skin, the stark reality of his situation hitting him like a physical blow. No clothes, no job, no freedom. He was at Avril's complete mercy, and the future stretched before him, a daunting landscape of strict schedules, forced therapy, and a constant reminder of his failures.
A single, choked sob escaped his lips. Shame burned through him, a searing heat that threatened to consume him whole. He knew this was his rock bottom, the consequence of his actions. But somewhere, beneath the layers of humiliation and despair, a flicker of hope remained. Perhaps, just perhaps, this harsh regimen was not just punishment, but a path to redemption, a chance to rebuild himself, piece by broken piece.
Avril's words hung in the air, heavy with malice. "This is day one of your new life, Roy," she declared, a twisted glint in her eyes. "And we're starting with a baby album."
Roy's stomach churned. A baby album? What kind of twisted punishment was this? The humiliation felt endless.
"Maybe the girls at work will like to see this," Avril continued, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "A visual reminder of what happens when you peep at them, wouldn't you say? A 'screw you' punishment instead of just saying 'screw you'."
Roy's mind raced. This wasn't about punishment; it was about revenge, a public shaming fueled by her anger. He wanted to scream, to plead, but the words wouldn't come. He was trapped, a prisoner in his own shame.
"But maybe I'm being too subtle," Avril mused, a sickeningly playful tone creeping into her voice. "Maybe a picture of you fully dressed wouldn't quite drive the point home. What do you say to showcasing the new baby clothes in all their glory?"
Her words were a monstrous proposal, a violation of his last shred of privacy. He wouldn't be just humiliated, he'd be objectified, turned into a spectacle for her amusement, and maybe, just maybe, for the amusement of her colleagues.
"However," she continued, her voice taking on a dismissive tone, "for now, let's start simple. Lie down on the floor in the conservatory with your legs open."
Roy's body recoiled in horror. This wasn't just humiliation, it was a blatant disregard for his dignity as a human being. He opened his mouth to protest, to beg for mercy, but the words died in his throat.
Avril didn't wait for a response. She grabbed her camera, the flash momentarily blinding him in the dimly lit conservatory. The click of the shutter echoed in the silence, a chilling reminder of the violation taking place.
Shame burned through Roy, a relentless fire consuming him from within. He squeezed his eyes shut, the image of his naked vulnerability etched onto his mind. He felt like a broken doll, stripped bare and posed for a cruel and twisted audience.
As Avril continued her cruel photoshoot, a flicker of defiance sparked within Roy. He wouldn't stay broken forever. He would fight for his dignity, for his freedom, and maybe, just maybe, for a chance at reconciliation with Avril, if she was even willing.
Roy felt utterly violated as Avril orchestrated her twisted photoshoot. His naked body, once a source of self-confidence, was now a canvas for her humiliation. Shame burned through him, a relentless fire scorching his insides.
Avril, however, seemed to relish her role as director. She barked orders, demanding ridiculous and degrading poses. Spread your legs wider. suc-k your thumb and look innocent. Crawl on all fours like a naughty baby. Each command was a fresh assault on his dignity, a step further into the abyss.
Despite the crushing humiliation, a spark of defiance flickered within him. He wouldn't give her the complete satisfaction of seeing him utterly broken. He gritted his teeth, forcing a semblance of defiance into his eyes with every forced pose.
As Avril commanded him to bend over, exposing his bare bottom yet again, a thought struck him. Maybe this wasn't just about revenge; maybe it was about control. Maybe by breaking him down to this infantile state, she was trying to assert complete dominion over him.
Avril seemed to relish her role. Her eyes gleamed with a predatory amusement as she barked out instructions, each one more ridiculous and demeaning than the last. suc-k your thumb harder, Roy. Look more innocent! Now crawl on all fours like a good little baby. "Alright, Roy," Avril purred, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Time to show the ladies what happens when you peep at them, wouldn't you say?"
She gestured towards the floor with a cruel smile. "Roll over on all fours, spread your legs wide, and show us your dirty bottom. Let's see how well you can behave like a good baby."
The words were a sickening combination of degrading and infantilizing. Roy's throat clenched tight, the urge to rebel warring with the fear of further humiliation.
Roy's blood ran cold. Rolling over on all fours, exposing his bare bottom - not just to Avril, but to an unseen audience of "ladies" - felt like the ultimate violation. Shame burned through him, a scorching fire that threatened to consume him. Yet, a flicker of defiance, a tiny ember fanned by the mention of his actions, refused to be extinguished.
Roy was mortified at the thought of the ladies at work and in particular Trudy seeing the photographs. He begged Avril not to show their photographs to the ladies at. Avril smiled Well, of course not. They’re gone in your baby album, and that’s our little a secret. But if you’re a naughty boy, the baby album might get shown around at work, and you wouldn’t like that, would you? Roy’s lip quivered with the thought of the extra humiliation. Avil demanded that the answer. Well, would you like that? Roy hesitated and muttered. No, I wouldn’t like that. And I think you should start calling me Nana. Now let me hear you say it. Come on, speak up. No, I wouldn't like that. Nana. Roy, now feeling tilted, totally defeated and trapped, crawled into the front room, totally naked. To see Avril holding. The dreaded princess pants. Come on, put these on. Let’s get your nice pink dungarees on you Then we can have breakfast. Can’t we I wonder what it is.

PART 51

     “NOW it’s time for the jacket,” Mrs. Smyth said a little more energetically. She was beyond pleased at her handiwork so far and getting excited about the finished product. “I’m so happy that I finally got my hands on you, and I’m certain you will be thrilled with the end result! Such a refined and fetching look for a very special boy!” she added.

     She carefully put the teenager into his short velvet cutaway jacket. As Mrs. Smyth helped him pull the long silk sleeves of his blouse through the jacket, it seemed to him that the jacket sleeves were on the short side as well. Then Mrs. Smyth meticulously set about straightening his sleeves just so. As she worked, he saw the petite jacket barely reached to his waist, and it was clearly intended to be worn open. The bottom of it only grazed the top portion of his pink sash, ensuring the shiny satin and fussy sash bow remained on full display. The fitted jacket felt childishly small on him. Like the pants, the velvet jacket had a rich texture and a distinctive soft sheen. It was also beautifully adorned with shiny brass buttons, and Josh noticed now that they were monogrammed with someone’s initials in fancy script. He read the letters “SSY” and was somewhat confused. A moment later, an unpleasant thought made his heart sink. He asked timidly, “Mrs. Smyth, are these buttons supposed to say ‘SISSY’”?

     Mrs. Smyth gave him a funny look, and then she broke out in a short laugh, “I hadn’t thought of that dear, but I guess they could stand for ‘SISSY’ if you like! Of course, it is true that the Fauntleroy suit became strongly associated with things that were cultured and refined, and less sophisticated people often attached the term ‘sissy’ to the boys who wore them. As an unfortunate result, most boys grew extremely reluctant to be seen in them, although the suits remained quite popular with their status-conscious mothers. It usually took a very insistent and determined mother to get an older boy dressed in a Fauntleroy suit, but the style remained common with younger boys. Wearing one at your age would have made you something of an outlier even at the time. I personally think that instead of being thought of as something ‘sissy,’ however, the look is better viewed as a callback to a more genteel and cultured time. Still, that ‘sissy’ idea has persisted."

     "In any event," she continued, "I believe Mrs. Meriweather took the monogrammed buttons off an old blazer she owned as a child and repurposed them for this suit. It had nothing to do with the so-called ‘sissy’ history of these suits. You see, her maiden name was Young, so Sylvia S. Young was her name before she married.” Chuckling slightly again, she added “So that’s how you arrive at ‘SSY’ for her initials… ’SISSY’ indeed!”

     Josh gaped in near disbelief at this convoluted explanation and meekly replied, “Oh… OK, Mrs. Smyth. Thank you for explaining all that.”

     “Well Joshy, I think Mrs. Meriweather’s SISSY buttons add a wonderful personal touch to your Fauntleroy jacket, don’t you?” his mother teased him gently. She thought to herself that she would have fit right in with those very determined mothers of the past!

     “Uh, yes I guess so, Mommy,” the embarrassed teen agreed.